“All right, then. Disavowed it is. No more maker and made bullshit for us.” The tide of Taladaius’s sadness broke for a moment, and I felt his relief rushing in. He accepted my hand and shook it. “No more maker and made bullshit,” he agreed. “But how about… friends?” I grinned, because the vampire who had saved me, who was at least fifteen hundred years older than me and had half of Ammontraíeth pissing in their pants whenever he walked lest he turn their blood to smoke, actually seemed nervous. “I think I’d like that.” At that, he returned my grin. “In that case, you’d better call me Tal.”
